


These truths are spoken in the rain

by Closetfic_er



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Based on a Tumblr Post, College Student Stiles, Fuckbuddies, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Mentions of Previous Relationships, Misunderstandings, Past Braeden/Derek Hale, Past Derek Hale/Paige, Past Jennifer Blake/Derek Hale, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Poor Stiles, Unrequited Love, general sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4882717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Closetfic_er/pseuds/Closetfic_er
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek’s standing in the rain outside Stiles’ dorm when he gets back from the library. People are giving him a wide-berth and elevator eyes as they walk by, probably on account of his general physique and resting murder face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These truths are spoken in the rain

**Author's Note:**

> So, I started this ficlet (that grew and grew and grew!) based on this piece of fanart http://shippygoodness.tumblr.com/post/129983777692, but I’ve ended up with two different endings…So here’s the unhappy one that doesn’t actually end up like the art shows them. The happier one should be ready soon. 
> 
> Please let me know if you think I should add any tags!
> 
> Scene setting: I see this as AU, so no Malia, Derek doesn’t skip town and he and Stiles started hooking up when Stiles was 18ish. 
> 
> For reference: I’m Australian, so apologies if any of the talk about locations and college rings false. Also, I’ve no beta so this has been shoddily prepped and proof-read by my own eyes. Enter at your peril.

Derek’s standing in the rain outside Stiles’ dorm when he gets back from the library. People are giving him a wide-berth and elevator eyes as they walk by, probably on account of his general physique and resting murder face.

He’s just standing there. Soaked. Stiles would like to say something negative like ‘he looks like a drowned rat’, but even the way his hair is plastered to his head, all helmet-like, is still hot as fuck. His dark henley sticks to him like a second skin, hinting at the abs that Stiles knows are hidden beneath. And fuck him for wearing it when he knows how it drives Stiles crazy, how it makes his skin flush with arousal.

“Shit,” Jazz says from her position at his side, huddled together under her massive umbrella, “That’s your boyfriend, isn’t it? Eric?”

“Derek. And he’s not- we were never…I don’t know what he’s doing here.”

“He’s here for you, stupid. Why else would he drive three and a half hours, in the pouring rain, from that little podunk town of yours?”

“He’s probably just here because something’s happened at home.”

“No, he’s probably here because you stopped taking his calls and he’s finally realised what a massive moron he’s been all these years.”

Derek looks up at that, eyes narrowing at the way Jazz’s looped her arm around Stiles’ waist. 

“I mean, dude’s been casually fucking you for, what, two years? And then he freaks out when you suggest more? Moron.”

Stiles splutters a little, knowing that Derek can probably hear it all. It’s not that it’s not true, it’s just that Stiles doesn’t need to relive that moment of rejection and heart-ache. Even thinking about it has his stomach clenching as ice runs through his veins.

“I should run the fucker off. I should kick him in his fucking balls. I should run upstairs, grab my really pointy pair of stilettos that I only wear when I know I’ll be sitting for 99% of the night, and then come back down here and fucking tap dance all over his chest. See how he likes it.”

Despite the stomach-churning feeling that Derek’s appearance has invoked, Stiles fights off a laugh. God, he’s made some really good friends at college. 

Jazz pulls them to a stop when they’re about 15 feet away and turns to face him. She probably thinks it’s far enough that Derek won’t hear what she’s saying, but Stiles knows better. 

“Seriously, though. I think you should talk to him.”

Stiles squawks in disbelief. 

“If you want to, that is. It’s just,” she sighs, put upon, “you’re not over him, Stiles. You’ve been trying to get over him, Will’s proof of that, but you’re still invested. You need closure; a proper ending if that’s what this really is. You’ll never be able to move on with the ‘what if’ of your first love hanging over your head.”

Jesus. She takes one fucking pysch class and suddenly she’s Dr Phil. 

Also, Stiles doesn’t need Derek fucking Hale hearing words like ‘first love’ in relation to Stiles’ possible feelings for him. Dude’ll fucking hit supersonic on his way off campus and who knows how much damage that’ll cause.

So he makes some kind of abortive dolphin noise, hand creeping towards her mouth to shut her up.

She steps backwards in response, taking the sanctuary of the umbrella with her, before shooting a glance in Derek’s direction. Her brow furrows slightly at what she sees, but Stiles is too chicken-shit to look for himself.

“Talk to him. You might be surprised with the outcome.” 

She takes a step towards the dorm and Stiles reaches out to her with a dissatisfied noise, a silent plea for a return of the relative safety that her presence brings. And the dryness.

“If not, I’ve got a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a bottle of vodka in my room and Magic Mike 1 and 2 on my hard drive.”

Stiles watches as she steps towards Derek, stopping slightly in front and to the left of him to say something that is lost to human ears in the steady beat of the rain. Judging from Derek’s face, though, it was probably a threat of disembowelment or similar.

With Jazz gone, Stiles doesn’t know what to do or where to look. He knows she’s right: he should talk to Derek. He should try and get them back to civility, at least, because Christ knows when the next wave of supernatural bullshit is going to hit Beacon Hills and require them to work together.

He clears his throat, finally raising his gaze towards Derek. He doesn’t make eye contact, though, instead looking over his left shoulder. He’s not ready for that level of intimacy yet, not with the remembered pain of Derek’s rejection clawing at his insides.

“Derek.”

“Stiles.”

Awkward silence.

“What brings you to UC Berkley? Thinking of enrolling?”

He counts to fifteen, slowly, in his head before sighing. Derek’s reticence rears it’s ugly head yet again, and Stiles is done, just done, with putting himself on the line.

“Well, this has been great. Really great. Have a safe trip back to Beacon Hills.” He mutters as he moves to step around Derek and head inside. He’ll take a steamy hot shower before he takes Jazz up on her offer of vodka and ice-cream. But he’s in the mood for something mind-numbingly action-y, like Mad Max, maybe; he really can’t deal with a shirtless Channing Tatum right now.

Except he finds his way blocked by the solid muscles of Derek’s chest, hands gripping his upper arms tightly.

“Stiles.”

“What, Derek, what?!”

“I can’t- I’m not- I don’t-”

Stiles breathes deeply through his nose, frustration and anger and hurt bubbling over as he finally locks eyes with his erstwhile lover.

“You can’t what, Derek? Express basic fucking emotions?”

Derek’s constipated face is answer enough on that accusation.

“When you- your last visit. When you said-”

Derek’s hands flex where they’re holding his biceps as Stiles tries to pull away.

It takes a second, but he releases his grip and Stiles takes the opportunity to step back slightly, putting a bit more space between them. He can’t do this, not with Derek’s everything all pressed up against him. Not with the slight scent of his clean skin and deodorant reaching his nostrils.

A heart can only take so much.

“When I said that we should try going on an actual date, planned, in public, outside of your loft for once and you freaked out and told me to leave?”

“Yes, that.”

“What about it, Derek?”

“You can’t’ve meant it, Stiles. You can’t’ve.”

“Why the hell not? I’m pretty sure I-”

“You obviously didn’t mean it because ‘Bill’.”

Stiles stops, deadly silent for a moment. His gaze is sharp as he glowers at Derek. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He says, voice low and furious.

“What? It’s only been three weeks since you were last in Beacon Hills and you’re already fucking some guy named Bill. So, yeah, Stiles. I think it’s obvious you didn’t mean it.”

“Fuck you, Derek. Just- fuck off. I’m done. I’m so done with you, you absolute fucking moronic asshole.” Stiles spits, anger warring with shock.

He goes to step around Derek, but he finds his way blocked again. It looks like the beta’s suddenly decided that he wants to do this: he wants to talk, he wants to argue. He wants to have a lovers’ quarrel in the middle of the walkway at three o'clock on a Saturday afternoon.

“Get out of my fucking way, Derek.”

“No.”

“I will kick in you in the balls, man. Even a werewolf would have trouble with that kind of injury.”

“You can’t blame me for freaking out, Stiles.”

“Excuse me?”

“When you told me you wanted more, that we should date. You can’t blame me for freaking out.”

“Um, pretty sure I can, actually. Not that it matters now, seeing as I want nothing to do with you. Not after you pretty much just called me a slut.”

Derek’s face is constipated again, with a side of contrition.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I was angry and I didn’t mean it.”

Stiles tries to side-step. Derek blocks his way again, head low and gaze seeking out Stiles’.

“I know it’s no excuse, but I’m not good with words. Or emotions.”

Stiles humphs, arms crossed in front of him defensively as he gives up on getting around the brick wall that is Derek. He settles for stepping back again, putting even more space between them.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m really sorry.”

Stiles turns his head to the side, refusing to make eye contact despite Derek’s continued efforts.

“I was a moron. I am a moron. I just. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’d never think you were a- I mean, even if you were, it’s- It’s really none of my business.”

Stiles shakes his head, sighing once more.

“’M'sorry.” Derek says again, and then he does the smartest thing he’s done all afternoon. He shuts his mouth and waits, gaze resting on Stiles forlornly.

It takes Stiles a couple of minutes to work through his anger. Perversely, it helps to see Derek so remorseful, practically wilting by the second as Stiles’ silence continues and he convinces himself there will be no forgiveness, not this time.

He perks up a little, though, when Stiles’ muttered 'jerk’ reaches his ears.

“You were acting like a jealous asshole Derek.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“And you don’t even have any right! We’re not together, and that was your choice.”

Derek swallows heavily. “I know.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Stiles practically mumbles, “I didn’t, you know.”

“Huh?”

“With Will. That’s his name, by the way.”

“Oh.”

“It was just a blind date.”

“Ok.”

“It didn’t go anywhere.”

“Ok.”

“Kinda sucked actually.”

“That’s- that’s too bad?”

Stiles gives a mirthless laugh. “Not quite the sentiment I’m looking for.”

There’s another pause as the rain continues to fall.

“I’ve only ever- I mean, there’s only ever been you.”

Derek’s silence presses on Stiles’ ear drums again.

He promised himself he wouldn’t do this. That he wouldn’t put himself out there again, and yet there he goes, saying stupid shit like that. And here he is, waiting for a reciprocal response that’ll never come.

“I know.”

Stiles finally meets Derek’s eyes again, and he knows Derek can see the hurt in their depths. “Then why?”

“Because you’re right. I’m a jealous idiot. And a moron. I freaked out on you and pushed you away and then I finally got up the courage to come up here and try and make it right, and the first thing I hear is that I’m too late. That you’re seeing someone else. And I freaked out again.” A beat, “I really am sorry.”

“I know.”

Derek sighs. “It doesn’t make a difference though, does it? I’m too late. I’ve fucked it all up too much to fix it.”

“To fix what?”

“Us.”

“I thought there was no us.”

“There is. There was. I just…”

“You just what?”

Derek takes a deep breath, as if he’s preparing to get something heavy off his chest. “It’s just, everyone I’ve ever been with, everyone I’ve ever gotten close to, has either fucked me over or died. I lose everyone, Stiles. I can’t keep a single person in my life who I love.”

“I’m not Kate, Derek. Or Jennifer or Braeden.”

Derek flinches. “I know you’re not, I never meant that-” He takes another breath, “Paige. You’re Paige.”

Derek’s eyes are heart-broken at the confession, and Stiles isn’t sure that he can keep up the anger or the distance. He knows what it must have cost Derek to say all that.

He pushes aside the sharp hurt that comes from being compared with Derek’s true love, the one he lost in so tragic a fashion, and tentatively places a hand on Derek’s shoulder as the urge to comfort overrides all common-sense.

“I’m not her, either, you know. I’m not innocent and unprepared like she was.”

“I know.”

Stiles lets Derek mourn silently for a moment before the rain trickling down the back of his neck brings him back to the present again.

“I think you should go home, Derek. We’re good. I-I forgive you. We’re friends again. Not, you know, sex friends, but friends. Acquaintances. Whatever.”

Derek looks up, startled at Stiles’ words. “What?”

“I can’t- We shouldn’t.” A breath, and then bluntly as he can. “We’re not fucking anymore. We can be friends, though. Friends with mutual friends.”

“But that’s. That’s not what I want. That’s not what I came here to say.”

“Jesus, Derek! I can’t, okay? I can’t go back to fucking you and pretending that it doesn’t rip my heart out that I’m the only one who actually feels anything.”

“That’s not true, I feel-”

Stiles blows out a noisy breath. “It’s not the same, Derek. I’m in love with you, but you’re still in love with a girl who’s been gone for over ten years. And I’ll never be what Paige was to you. I’ll never be the person you actually would have chosen.” He takes a steadying breath, “And I deserve to be that. I deserve to be someone’s Paige.”

Derek’s face is a picture of absolute shock.

Stiles knows it was pretty shitty of him to put it that way, now, after what Derek’s just confessed to him. But he can’t be the consolation prize. He won’t let Derek fill up all his lonely, empty spaces with bits of Stiles’ heart and soul.

“Bye, Derek. Have a safe trip home.”

He steps around him to head towards his dorm.

Derek lets him go.


End file.
